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11 January 2026

Why Do I Keep Saying Yes? A Lesson I’m Still Learning

Sometimes the only honest place to begin is with a question: Why?

Why am I doing work you’re fully capable of doing yourself?
Why do I jump in to help when my own needs go unnoticed?
Why do I expect you to know what I want without me ever saying it out loud?
Why am I so afraid of “flipping your switch”—or is it really my own switch I’m trying not to trigger?
Why do I feel anger rising in me while you sit there smiling, untouched by the weight I’m carrying?

And the biggest question of all: Is the problem you… or is it me?

These are the moments that send me back to my journal, back to my blog, back to the work I do as a Life Coach. Because the truth I’ve learned—over and over—is that most of the time, the issue isn’t “them.”
It’s us.
It’s the patterns we’ve built.
It’s the roles we’ve rehearsed for decades.
It’s the quiet ways we allow ourselves to be used, even unintentionally, because we’re trying to keep the happiness scale balanced.

Today was one of those days.

I was sitting in my office doing tasks for my husband. He never asked. I volunteered. At first, it felt fine—helpful, even. But the deeper I got into it, the more irritated I became. Not with myself, but with him. And that’s when I had to pull the brake.

Not on the task.
On my reaction.

If I’m going to be angry, the anger belongs with me.
I took on something I didn’t need to take on.
I expected him to say, “No honey, I’ll do it.”
He didn’t.
And why would he? I already said I would handle it.

It reminded me of old workplace patterns—me hunkering down to do my job and someone else’s, while they watched gratefully from the sidelines. No one offered help because I had already stepped into the role.

I’m still learning—sometimes the hard way—when to offer, when to step back, and when to say no. I’m also learning not to blame others for the expectations I create.

So, I paused.
I breathed.
I looked out my office window and let the wind carry away the frustration, the disappointment, the heaviness in my chest. Anger has a way of settling into the body, and I could feel exactly where it lived. With each breath, I let it move out.

And then I remembered something I’ve known for years but still forget:

The toughest enemy I’ve ever faced is myself.
There is no room in my life for self‑punishment.
Not anymore.

Letting go—physically and emotionally—isn’t easy. But it’s necessary.
And it takes time.

So, if you’re reading this and recognizing yourself in these words, take this as a gentle reminder:

• Give yourself grace.
• Understand your patterns.
• Release the anger that isn’t serving you.
• And breathe your way back to yourself.

#yesican Coaching with Karen

When you least expect it, the quiet settles in. A heaviness creeps up from somewhere you can’t quite name, and suddenly you realize what’s missing: your son or daughter has just walked out the door and headed back to their own life. Home for them might be across the country, a few hours down the highway, or simply across town—but the moment they cross that threshold into their world, something inside you shifts. The house feels different. You feel different.

I learned this ache early on. When my oldest moved in with his dad—because sometimes divorce makes decisions you never wanted to make—I cried every single time he left. Even weekend visits or school breaks, no matter how joyful, ended with that familiar tearing sensation, as if I were losing an arm or a leg. Sometimes both. And even now, with him grown and thriving, that same hollow feeling still rises after a visit. Love doesn’t age out of longing.

Then came the day my youngest moved out after living with us for 30 years while building his career. I thought the grief might swallow me whole. The sobs that came from my gut were unlike anything I expected—raw, primal, overwhelming. I remember thinking, I can’t do this for the rest of my life. So, I worked at it. I learned to understand the good-byes, to soften the edges of the separation. And while it has gotten easier, the ache never fully disappears.

Today, as he pulled away to return to his own life—his career, his home, his independence—I felt that familiar gnawing in my stomach. And he’s not even two hours away. Distance doesn’t measure love; it only measures miles.

The truth is, we both know we need our separateness. He calls regularly, and I do my best to wait for those calls, to respect the boundaries of his adult life. But I’m still a mother. Sometimes I text or call first, and yes, sometimes it annoys him. But reaching out is part of how I love and letting go is part of how he grows.

This is the dance of parenting adult children—holding on, letting go, and learning to live in the space between.

I’ve noticed on Facebook that I’m far from alone in these emotions. So many mothers are feeling that same post‑holiday ache as our families slip back into their routines and the house settles into its quieter rhythm. We all understand that change is part of our evolution, but that doesn’t mean we automatically know how to navigate it. Growth doesn’t come with a manual.

As I write this, the tears have softened a bit. Maybe it’s because I’m reminding myself that tomorrow will come, and with it, the life my husband and I share in this home—just the two of us. I have a purpose that extends beyond motherhood. I am still me, and that identity deserves space, attention, and care.

If sadness shows up between the smiles, if tears mingle with moments of joy, that’s okay. That’s real. That’s living. And living fully means embracing the whole spectrum—the love, the longing, the laughter, and the letting go.

Caring is sharing, and sharing is caring—words I’ve repeated often because they continue to ring true. When something stirs inside me, I feel compelled to express it, to put it into language that others can walk through, reflect on, and maybe even find themselves in.

Some people turn to scripture, poetry, or music to soothe the swirl of emotions that life stirs up. I turn inward. I sift through my own thoughts, my own stories, and from that place I create the tools that help me keep moving—one step, one breath, one moment at a time.

#yesican Coaching with Karen

Kh.yesican1@gmail.com

3 January 2026

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15 June 2025

Father’s Day arrived, and though my Pops is in heaven, his presence resides within me. He will always be a part of me, a guiding hand woven into the very fabric of my being. Twenty-one years have passed without this giant of a man by my side, yet his love and acceptance continue to shape my world. Even as his heart weakened, J Harmon Moss never ceased to shower us with the kind of love that transcends time.

Though my father-in-law, Ed Hale, was only in my life for a short while, his kindness was immediate, his brilliance undeniable. He never needed blood ties to embrace family—he stepped effortlessly into the role of grandfather to my oldest son, a gesture that still fills my heart with gratitude.

I’ve never truly thanked my ex, but despite our past conflicts, Bruce gave me the greatest gift of all: our son, Steve.

For over four decades, my husband, Rich, has been a father—not just to our son but to my oldest as well. There are no stepdad titles, no half-brother distinctions, only family. He has poured his heart into this journey, loving us unconditionally, weaving together the threads of our shared lives.

We may not follow the traditions of many other families, but we deeply acknowledge and appreciate one another. Today, Steve is in his home in Illinois, Alex in Indiana—each carving their own path. And on this beautiful summer day, I will spend time with my husband, reflecting on the incredible fathers I have known.

A special shoutout to my big brothers, Gary and Joel Moss—men whose love for their children exemplifies family values worth celebrating.

8 May 2025

Mother’s Day is this Sunday, and I find myself missing three remarkable women who played an invaluable role in my life’s journey.

One of them is Sue Givot, who embraced me when I was just 15 and remained a constant presence in my life until her recent passing. Sue and her husband were deeply involved in the youth organization (USY), which I was fortunate to be part of. Through them, I formed lasting friendships with their daughters, Debbie and Jodi—connections that have endured for over 60 years, despite the physical distance between us.

Even across miles, we stayed close, regularly exchanging letters through snail mail. Sue never failed to remind me of the special bond we shared, a connection that has remained a cherished part of my life.

My mother-in-law, Loretta Hale, was more than just family—she was my friend, my second mom. From the very first day we met, she accepted me wholeheartedly, and together we shared so many cherished moments. She defied the stereotypical mother-in-law role, offering unconditional support and friendship. She never judged, but when needed, she provided gentle, motherly advice.

During a difficult period with my own mother, Loretta reminded me that I was loved—something she knew firsthand, as she and my mom had built a beautiful relationship of their own. Her kindness and presence were a gift, and I will always be grateful.

The last Mother’s Day I shared with my mom, Dorothy Friedman Moss—D’Vasha—was nine years ago. As people often say, if I had known it would be our last, maybe I would have spent more time with her or chosen a more meaningful gift. But the truth is, we rarely recognize “the last time” until it has already passed.

There are countless sayings about living life to the fullest and embracing happiness, yet amid the whirlwind of daily responsibilities, we often move through moments—sometimes even the most precious ones—without truly realizing their significance.

This year I was able to celebrate Mother’s Day with my first born, Steve, early.  The time we spent together was simple, sweet, and wonderful.  I enjoy the company of my sons, and I appreciate the time we spend together and the communication we have throughout the year.

This weekend, I’ll be celebrating Mother’s Day with my youngest, Alex. We’ll be traveling to his new home and exploring the beauty of Kentucky together. Alex has invited me to stay on while my husband returns for work, and whether I decide to extend my visit or not, I’m deeply grateful that he wants to spend more time with me.

This post is not meant to diminish anyone’s experience, especially for those who find this weekend filled with sadness and grief. For many, Mother’s Day carries a heavy weight—particularly for those who have lost children through miscarriage, illness, or death.

I remember my first Mother’s Day after the loss of a deeply wanted pregnancy. In my pain, I unintentionally allowed my sorrow to overshadow the day for my mother and mother-in-law. It’s a moment I cannot take back, but I can honor that experience by continuing to grow—choosing kindness, grace, and a gentler approach in the way I move forward.

To my friends and acquaintances who are Not Moms—whether by choice or circumstance—please know that this day is for you too. So many of you have stepped into roles as surrogate moms, teachers, caregivers, and mentors, offering love, guidance, and support to children in countless ways.

Your kindness, dedication, and the impact you make deserve to be celebrated. Today, and every day, your presence matters.

And if Mother’s Day isn’t something you’re celebrating this year, why not celebrate my brother Joel’s 79th birthday instead?

For years, he shared this special day with our Aunt Lieba, and now, he celebrates surrounded by his wife TL, his daughter and grandchildren, and the incredible music community of Saratoga Springs.

So, sing a song, sing it loud, and most importantly—CELEBRATE!

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